Revenants and Redemption A Christmas Carol
by livromaniaque
Summary: I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little fic, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with the fandom, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.
1. Chapter 1

Revenants and Redemption, or a Twilight Christmas Carol

**Chapter 1: Whitlock's ghost**

Good day to you, gentle people of the Twilight fandom. I am here today to tell you a story. And tell a story I shall, but there is one thing that I must make clear before I begin.

Jasper Whitlock is dead.

Now, I realise that it might shock some of you to read those words. You may find my statement unduly blunt. You may be on Team Jasper, in which case the news of his demise may be especially horrific to you. Well, I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. Jasper Whitlock is dead and his being dead is essential to the story. All right?

All right, then. Let's begin.

For the last 4 years of his life, Jasper owned and operated a money-landing business with his partner, Edward Masen. Edward was more than Jasper's business partner. He was the executor of his will, his only heir, his only friend, and the one person in the world to mourn for him. And he didn't mourn so much that he didn't get a good deal on the funeral. It was what Jazz would have wanted, he rationalized, and he was right. Jasper Whitlock was a businessman, first and last, and so is Edward Masen.

Edward has a bad reputation. He doesn't care. In fact, he deserves every bad name and every slur, and more. He is not simply avaricious, he is mercenary. He is not simply a loner, he is a misanthrope. He is so cold and hard, even the weather has no effect upon him. The hottest day does not warm him; the coldest day does not chill him. He has a heart of stone, and ice water pumps in his veins.

He might look beautiful, with his tousled bronze hair, piercing green eyes and perfectly chiselled features, but he has a dark aura, and no-one ever approaches him. No man would befriend him, no woman would proposition him, and the beggars have better sense then ask him for spare change. Even animals steer clear of him. At 26 years old, it appears he is fated to live his life alone, and that is just the way he wants it.

He is curt, even brutal, to everyone who would dare talk to him, for any reason. And on this day, Christmas Eve, he is at his very worst.

When some poor generous soul, working for one of the many charitable organisations operating in the city, bravely walks to his office to solicit a contribution.

"No, I don't want to give anything. I want to be left alone. I don't celebrate Christmas, and I see no reason why I should help others celebrate. Besides, my taxes pay for prisons and hospitals, let the poor go there. They have beds; they serve food, what more could anybody want?"

"Well, sir, hospitals and prisons have limited place. They like to keep those places for those who belong there; the sick in the hospital and the criminals in prison."

"The poor either end up as one or as the other, so what's the difference?"

"That is a gross oversimplification, and a bigoted one. Besides, who wants to go to the hospital, or to prison? It's difficult enough to accept charity. The more you need it, the worse it is. Having to go get it in such distasteful establishments, especially during the holidays ... well, it's... Just because one is poor doesn't mean one doesn't have pride."

"So the poor have their pride. What do I care? Let them have it. Let them choke on it. It'll reduce the population surplus."

The shocked solicitor leaves without another word.

When his uncle, Carlisle Cullen, his only living relative, calls to invite him to his Christmas dinner.

"No. Forget it. No way."

"Edward ..."

"You just go on and celebrate Christmas your way, and let me do the same."

"But you don't celebrate."

"Then let me leave it alone. Why do you invite me every year? You must know my answer by now."

"I'm hoping you'll change your mind. I want you to meet Esme."

"I'm not interested in meeting your new wife. Why did you marry her anyway?"

"I love her."

"What does that have to do with marriage?"

"I could explain, but I don't think you would understand. Edward, I don't think you should be spending tomorrow alone."

"Carlisle ..."

"Christmas is a time for family, and you are my family. I have no reason to be angry at you, or to reject you. I don't know why you reject me, but I won't let it stop me. I want you to understand that my door is always open to you. I'll come back next year and I'll ask again, and again. I'll keep the hope that someday you change your mind. Until then, Merry Christmas."

Edward hangs up before the customary "Happy New Year", as he always did. He grumbles and swears under his breath. "_Merry Christmas_. If I had my way, those holidays cretins would be stuffed with their holly and their mistletoes, cooked with their turkeys, and their bodies dumped in the North Pole where they wouldn't offend anybody."

When he closes the office at the end of business day with Charlie Swan, the clerk he hired after Jasper's death.

"So you'll be taking all day off tomorrow. And if I don't give you a full day's salary for it, then I'll be robbing you, is that right?"

"I wouldn't say that, Mr Masen."

"But you would think it. This is absurd. Clearly, I'm the one who's being robbed here. Having to pay a full day's salary for no work at all!"

"Sir ..."

"Oh, wipe that miserable look from your face, Charlie. I'll do it. It's not like I have a choice. Go ahead, then. Leave. I want you here at the earliest hour, the day after tomorrow, or else!"

And Edward walks out on Charlie as he promised that he would be there. The streets are decorated for the holidays, cheerful lights on the houses and in the trees, windows dressed up in style, hymns and carols piping down the streets from various stores. Those careful touches created to make us smile during the holidays only make Edward angrier. He ignores them as best he can while he rushes back to his house.

As he walks in front of his house, toward the front door, he passes in front of his living room bay window and catches sight of a figure. It was not the first time this happened: one of the street light was hitting the glass pane just right, so when the sun has set and the light inside the house were off, this window became essentially a mirror. Normally, he would have ignored the figure, assuming it was his own reflection, and moved on into the house.

But this night is no ordinary night, and something about the figure makes Edward stop and stare. The figure is not the right shape; it is just a bit too tall. The hair color is also wrong; it is too yellow, blond instead of bronze.

Edward nervously takes a step closer, then another, then one more. The figure matches his movements. He can now make out its features. The figure bears the face of someone he knew, someone he had not seen in four years.

"Jazz?"

Jasper Withlock's reflection says nothing, merely staring into the eyes of his former associate.

A loud popping noise makes Edward jump and turn around. He identifies the source of the noise, a truck backfiring down the street, and turns around to see his own face staring back at him.

Edward shakes violently, trying to dislodge the sudden feeling of dread which has overtaken him, and walks into his house. Being a rational man, he believes that there must have been an explanation to what he saw, or thought he saw. Just because he can't think of one, doesn't mean that one doesn't exist.

Edward makes himself a simple dinner, if you call heating up a frozen Hungry Man 'making dinner'. He eats in silence, his mind twirling around the event of earlier this evening in a futile attempt to find a logical explanation.

After his dinner and the obligatory clean-up, he paces around in his house, with no way to turn off his mind or sooth his nerves. He tries watching television, but nothing holds his interest. He tries reading, but he finds himself reading the same paragraph over and over again. He tries listening to music, but rather then sooth the savage beast, it only grates his nerves. He is growing more anxious by the minute.

When he realises he has actual tremors, he finds himself doing something he never did, something he hates to do: he takes a hot shower. The waste of hot water usually disgusted him, but tonight it helps him relax ever so slightly. Unfortunately, the effort was wasted, as he steps out of the master bath to see Jasper Whitlock sitting in a chair, looking at him.

"What the ... Who are you? How did you get in here? What do you want?"

The questions elicit a sigh from his visitor. "Seriously? You've already forgot about me? Or do you enjoy asking questions you already know the answer to?"

Edward stands for a moment, speechless. "The food," he finally says. He paces around, muttering to himself. "It was the food, it had to be. It was bad, past the expiration date, and now I've got food poisoning. Or maybe ... what else could cause hallucinations? Mental illness? I don't have time for mental illness. Brain damage? Or a concussion. Yeah, that could be it. I knocked myself out in the shower. I'm not even here now. I'm out cold in the tub, probably drowning too and ..."

"Edward!" He nearly jumps out of his skin as Jasper materialises in front of him. "I don't have time for your bullshit! Four year. Four years I've been yelling at you, begging you to listen to me, but you never heard. And now that you can hear me, you _will_ listen! I'm trying to save you."

"Save me from what?"

"Damnation."

Edward stares at his friend, his slowly shifting from shock to incredulity. "Damnation. As in Hell. Really. You're saying that you came back from the dead to save me from Hell." Jasper doesn't answer, only stares. "I don't believe in Hell," Edward finally says.

"Neither did I, until I found myself there."

"And what? You made some daring escape to save me? I'm flattered."

Edward's sarcasm does not faze Jasper. "I didn't escape," he says, simply and earnestly. "I'm still in Hell."

"Oh, now you're just being stupid. How can you be in Hell and here at the same time?"

"Hell is a state of mind. It's a state of being. I've been forced to endure it for four years. I've been suffering the damage I've inflicted upon others with my callous, selfish attitude. I've caused so much pain, Edward. I never knew, not until it was too late. Now there's nothing I can do; I must endure it."

Edward isn't incredulous and sarcastic anymore; he looks worried. "Jasper, come on. You were only 23. How much pain could you have caused in the world?"

As soon as the words have escaped his lips, Edward feels it. The pure, the abject misery hits him in the chest like a battering ram. The weight of it brings him down to his knees. He can hardly breathe.

"No." It's with great effort that he manages to choke out his protest. "No, I can't believe that. You can't have brought that much pain in the world. You weren't a bad man, Jazz. You weren't."

"Evidence suggests otherwise. Besides, the pain you're feeling right now wasn't caused by me. It was caused by you. At only 26. Age has nothing to do with it."

The pain ebbs away leaving behind a paralysis terror. He looks to see Jasper crouched in front of him.

"Listen to me; I can see you're heading down the same path I took. I was given a chance to change my way, and I didn't take it. Don't make my mistake."

Jasper suddenly gasps, as if, all of a sudden, he couldn't breathe either.

"Jazz?"

"Time, running out," the ghost manages to choke out. "You have to listen, Edward."

"I am, I promise."

"No ... The ghosts. You have ... to listen ... to the ghosts."

"Ghosts? You mean more?"

"The first at one o'clock. The second at two o'clock. The third at midnight. Listen to them, Edward. Save yourself."

And on those final words, the ghost of Jasper Whitlock disappears from Edward's sight.


	2. Chapter 2

Revenants and Redemption, or a Twilight Christmas Carol

**Chapter 2: The first of the three ghosts**

If the ghost of your best friend and business partner, dead for four years, appeared to you one night and told you that not only was he suffering eternal damnation, and by suffering he means _suffering_, but that you were heading down the same path and that "the three ghosts" were your only hope of salvation, what would you do?

Edward Masen does the only reasonable thing he can think of: he tries to ignore it.

Really, readers, can you blame him? You probably would have the same reaction. I know I would.

Also, notice that I've said 'tries'. He goes through the paces of his bedtime ritual, but he can't go to sleep. He would close his eyes for a few seconds, then re-open them to see if the hour had changed. He tells himself that he once one o'clock comes and went with no mystical or paranormal events; he would be able to get some sleep. Somewhere, deep inside, he knows better.

The numbers on his digital clock change from 00:59 to 01:00.

At first, it looks like nothing had happened. Then Edward notices a figure standing in front of the window. It is a woman, or at least it looks like a woman, but there are clues that the figure is something other worldly. First, she is beautiful, more so then any other woman Edward had even seen. Second, she looks ageless. Her long golden hair, smooth skin and perfect figure are all indicators of youth. Her expression and poise, however, seem to indicate maturity and experience beyond her years. Third, but perhaps that should have been said first, the glow of the moon seems to be reflected and amplified by her skin. All of her skin, and there is a lot of it to see. The strapless, bold red dress that the woman wears is barely long enough to respect decency laws. Her feet are covered, barely, by high heeled shoes made of many tiny straps of red leather, matching the dress. In her left hand, she holds a brown lump that looks like it could be some sort of fur coat, but Edward wouldn't bet on it. Her right hand is resting in her hip.

"So, you're the ghost? The one Jazz said was coming?"

"My arrival has been announced."

Edward and the ghost look at each other. The silence grows heavier by the second.

"Don't you want to put that on?" finally asks Edward, pointing at the lump of fur in the ghost's hand. "You've got to be cold, dressed like this."

"I've been wearing that thing for far too long. Now that I've got it off, I'm not putting it back on. It's bad enough I have to carry it around."

"O...Kay. I guess dead people don't get cold."

The woman sighs. "I'm not a ghost."

"But ... Jazz said ..."

"Can't trust mortals for anything," mumbles the non-ghost, before she raises her voice to explain. "I am a spirit, an anthropomorphic embodiment of Christmas Past. I'm not dead, because I was never alive."

Edward contemplates arguing with her some more, but he's supposed to be listening to her, not fighting with her. "Spirit," he finally says. "Got it."

"All right, let's go. I don't have all night." The spirit walks to the window and opens it.

"Wo, wo, wo. What's that? What are you doing?"

"We have places to go."

"Out the window? Are you insane? I can't jump out a window, I'm gonna die!"

"It's the closest way out, and you'll be fine."

"There's a door, right downstairs. It's in perfect working order. Just an extra minute or two, and that way I won't jump and fall to my death."

"We don't have a minute, human. The night is short, and we have much to do. Just take my hand."

"At least let me put some clothes on. I can get cold."

"Take. My. Hand."

The spirit's tone leaves no room for argument. Edward gulps, and then timidly puts his hand in the spirits. Her grip is like iron, and she pulls Edward out the window. Edward yells all the way down, and there is a lot more down to go then the two stories between his bedroom and the ground.

When he finally feels the earth under his feet again, he opens his eyes and stares at his childhood home, a house he had not seen for many years.

"That's my house. My old house, when I was a kid."

"I know," said the spirit, before pulling him through the door. The closed door. And then through a few walls until they reach the dining room.

It doesn't hurt him; crossing those solid objects feels exactly like crossing air. Still, it would take a while to get used to.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Edward hopes fervently that he doesn't get a chance to get used to it. That would just be too much.

The spirit lets go of his arm. He takes a look around the room, remembering all the little touches, all the sights and smells that made up the Christmases of his childhood. Little details that had faded from his memories.

And then he sees her. The beautiful and kind woman he had loved and lost so many years ago. She looks exactly the same he remembers her.

"Mom!" he calls out as he runs up to her.

"Calm down, human. She can't see or hear you. Just as well, too. From my I understand of you kind, most would find the sight of someone their own age running up to them calling them Mom disturbing."

He stops in front of his mother. He reaches out to touch her face.

"Can't touch her either."

Unable to take his eyes off his mother, he asks to the spirit: "What is going on here?"

"You are looking at the shadows of your past. You cannot interact with them. You can only observe. So observe."

Edward and the spirit watch in silence as Elizabeth Masen put the final touches to the Christmas breakfast. She smiled as she heard a young voice calling out to her, ringing with excitement.

"Mommy! Mommy, Santa came!"

Edward is smart enough to realise that the child who runs in the dining room and into his mother's arms had to be him, but he cannot reconcile what she knows of himself with the smiling toddler.

"Come on! Come on, Mommy! We have to go open the presents."

"Slow down, Eddie. Breakfast first."

"But Mommy!"

"The presents will still be there when we're done, I promise. You sit down, and I'm going to get Daddy."

Once little Edward is settled at his place, our Edward follows Elizabeth as she seeks her husband. She finds him at the door, with his coat and boots already on. Edward looks at his father, his namesake, Edward Masen senior, and he sees something he never wanted to see, something he swore he would never see: a reflection of himself.

"Edward, where are you going?"

"The office."

"But it's Christmas. Everything is closed. There's nobody to do business with."

"I'll catch up on paperwork, then."

"Edward, please. Think about Eddie. It's his first real Christmas. He's finally old enough to understand what's going on. We should all spend the day together, as a family."

"If he's old enough to understand, then he's old enough to realise that Christmas is a bunch of nonsense."

Our Edward feels nauseous as he watches his father walk out the door.

"I turned into my father. I promised myself that I would never be like him, and yet ..."

"Yeah," answered the spirit. "Yet. I bet you think you're an original, too."

Elizabeth sighs, and then gathers her spirits the best she can and makes her way to the dining room.

"Where's Daddy?" asks little Edward.

"He had an emergency at work."

"Aww."

Our Edward watches as his younger self and his mother eat their breakfast, then move on to the living room to open the presents. Then they play with some of Edward's new games and toys until the extended family arrives. A grandmother Edward didn't remember he had, many of his mother's uncles and aunts and cousins, and Edward's uncle Carlisle.

"Look at that," says our Edward to the spirit. "The way Carlisle playing with me, like he's having the time of his life. He's ten years older than me, for Christ's sake. He's a teenager. I was such a moody bastard as that age, you wouldn't have caught me dead playing with a baby."

"If you were dead, you couldn't play with a baby," answers the spirit in a bored tone.

"It's a figure of speech, Spirit."

"Figures of speeches are usually stupid."

And the Christmases pass, every one of those 25th of Decembers stretching out forever and passing in the blink of an eye. Most went exactly the same way; Edward senior would leave in the morning, and eventually little Edward stopped asking for him. Mother and child would eat breakfast, then open the presents and play with them, until the family arrived for the Christmas dinner and more celebration.

Until that day, the worst Christmas of Edward's life. He was eight years old.

Little Edward gets up before dawn, and gets ready to visit his mother at the hospital. She became sick, around Easter time, and had to be hospitalised in June, just after Edward's birthday. Edward wants to spend Christmas with her, to watch her open the present he bought her, to have that day with her. He knows that it'll be her last.

Little Edward marches into his father's office, with his coats and boots on, holding his mother's present in his hands. "I want to go to the hospital now."

Edward senior, busy as he is filling out paperwork, doesn't even look up to his son. "That won't be necessary."

"I don't care about necessary. I want to go and spend Christmas with Mom."

"You mother died during the night."

Both Edwards stare at their father, shocked at the news and the cavalier way it was announced.

"Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"What good would it have done you to be up? She would still be dead."

The phone rings before young Edward can answer. Edward senior picks it up. "Hello? Yes, thank you for getting back to me so promptly."

"Don't you care about her at all? Don't you care that she's dead!"

Edward senior hold up a finger, in the universal sign of 'I'm busy, give me a minute.' Young Edward turns around and takes the first step out of the room.

"Edward!" barks out Edward senior. "Come back here, sit down and shut up!"

Our Edward looks as his younger self does what his father told him too, feeling the same mixture of anger and sorrow. He also feels a dread that his younger self does not; he knows what's about to happen.

"Yes, that will do just fine. Thank you. Good bye." Edward senior hangs up the phone and turns to his son. "That was the registrar's office at Hackley School. They have received your files, and are ready for your arrival."

"You're putting me in a new school?" asked young Edward after a moment of confused silence. "Why? Why now?"

"Because I believe that you will be able to better focus on your studies at a boarding school and why not now."

"You're sending me to a boarding school?" It was something young Edward could not understand. Sending children to boarding school was done by evil stepmothers, to get rid of children they didn't want or like. His father felt that way about him?

"You leave in two days. I suggest you start packing now."

Edward senior had dismissed his son. The younger Edward realises at that moment, clearer than he ever did before, that yes, his father felt that way about him.

"I hate you," he says to his father in a low tone, almost a growl. "You're the one who should have died."

"Well, the world just doesn't work that way."

Our Edward watches his younger self leave his father's office. He had gone over the shock of his father's indifferent cruelty years ago, or so he believed. And still he hurts. And still he rages.

Edward senior walks to the chair his son just left and picks up the gift for Elizabeth. Younger Edward had left it behind. Our Edward can't even remember what was in it. He only remembers that it was something he had spent hours looking for, that he chose it carefully.

"It was a music box that played Clair de Lune," says the Spirit. Does it come as a surprise to anyone that she can read Edward's thoughts? "She loved the song, said it was hopeful."

Edward senior tosses the gift in the trash can, unopened.

"You bastard. You asshole! You didn't give a shit about her, and she was the best thing that ever happened to you! Didn't you care?"

"I've already told you that they can't hear you. And of course he didn't care. He married her because she came from money."

"Why did she stay with him?" Edward doesn't look at the spirit. He continues to stare at his father, hopping that he's in the same kind of hell Jasper is in, only ten times worse. He deserves that.

"For the same reason she got married. For you. She thought that a boy needs his father."

"She was wrong."

"Humans often are. All right, time to go." The spirit grabbed Edward's wrist.

"Wo!" Edward resists against the spirit's pull, shocked, fascinated and a little bit scared by what he was seeing. "What happened to your skin?" The hand of the spirit is sparkling; there is simply no other word for it. It shines like a diamond in the sun, breaking out in tiny rainbows.

"Never mind my skin. We have places to be." She pulls him forward, to the boarding school where he spent the next 10 years of his life. The school wasn't a bad place, but younger Edward wasn't in any kind of mood to acknowledge that. Our Edward remembers, to a point, what he was thinking at that time. He was angry and hurt; at his father for not loving him, at his mother for dying, at the world in general for being an enormous ball of suck.

And still, watching the other boarding school kids having enjoyable Christmases while he sulked in a corner, remembering how much his mother had loved the season, and how much he did as well, back when she was alive, he begins to wonder if he hadn't made his life harder then it needed to be.

Things got a bit better when young Edward met Jasper. It's hard to imagine what those two cynical, moody boys ever saw in each other, but from the day they met, when Edward was 14 and Jasper was 15, they were inseparable. Rather than spend his Christmas day sitting in a corner alone and brooding, Edward spend Christmas sitting in the corner with Jasper, mocking the Holiday fools.

The years went on, until senior year. Jasper has already graduated, but he comes to visit Edward. Or to be more exact, to bust him out. They are going to a party.

"So I'm dropping out of college," says Jasper conversationally, as if he was talking about picking up a burger for lunch.

Teenaged Edward snorts. "Dude, what are you, stupid?"

"No, those classes are stupid. The people are stupid. College is stupid. There's nothing those bastard could teach me, I already know all the material. I could get a degree online in half the time and for half the price, so that's what I'm gonna do."

"So we're going to party with stupid people. Way to sell it, Jazz."

"Get your head out of your ass, Ed-ster. Parties are the only thing those college jerks do better than anybody else."

Our Edward remembers the fear that his younger self felt at that moment: that the college kids would have some sort of Spider-sense, that they would know he's only in high school, and that they would kick him out, or totally humiliate him in some way. But he had enough pride not to show if fears to Jasper.

"So, what are you gonna do, if you don't go to college."

"I'll probably get that online degree, work some shitty job to get some extra money aside, get a loan that I might never be able to pay back, starve for a while, and start my own business. Want to be my partner?"

"Having our own business? Hell, yeah, I do!" And he did. There was nothing young Edward wanted more then to work side by side with his best friend. "You sure about this?"

"That's right. I've got a plan, I've done the research. I know it can work. I will make it work, if I ever got the money. I figure, with the two of us saving up, we'll get the funds twice as fast. Besides, there's no one I'd rather work with then you."

"I've got money. Or I will, pretty soon."

"I don't think you realise the kind of money I'm talking about, here, Edward."

"The old man died a month ago. I'm the only heir. Once I'm done cutting through the red tape, and when those taxes leeches are done feeding, there should be close to 500 000 bucks, maybe more."

Jasper looks at his best friend, speechless. They are now standing in front of the house where the party is given. The Christmas music that Edward now hates is playing loud enough to shake the windows.

"All right, we'll talk about that later." Jasper made his way up the stairs, letting Edward catch up to him. "And listen: stop freaking out about the party, okay? Nobody is gonna card you. Just grab a beer and a girl and have some fun."

Both Edwards laugh at that. "He always knew," says our Edward. "I don't know why ever tried to hide anything from him, he always knew."

"Party's inside," says the spirit in lieu of answer. "Let's go."

The party had been nothing like what he had feared, remembers Edward as he looks around, brimming with nostalgia. There was a lot of drinking, a lot of talking, and very little dancing. As Jasper had said, no-one asked him how old he was, or what did he think he was doing here. Younger Edward is slowly relaxing, nursing one beer because he's afraid that the hall monitor will give him a demerit if he returns to the school drunk.

"Are you not going to drink anything else tonight?"

The younger Edward turns to find the person who just talked to him. It was a female, of the hotter than hot variety. The most attractive woman Edward had ever met. The sentence would apply to both Edward, actually, if not for the spirit standing next to our Edward.

"Jesus Christ. Tanya." Our Edward whispers to himself. "I forgot that this is where we met. Jesus."

The younger Edward is equally flustered, but he manages his wits. "Yeah. I mean, I don't need any alcohol; your presence alone intoxicates me."

Our Edward groans. "I still can't believe that line actually worked. It was so bad."

Tanya blinks, and then starts to laugh. "I've got to give you points, pretty boy; that took balls. I'm Tanya McKinley."

"Edward Masen."

"Eddie!" yells Jasper at that very inopportune moment. Everyone, including our Edward and the spirit, turn to face the drunken man.

"Is he talking to you?" asks Tanya.

"Yeah, I think he is," answers an embarrassed Edward. "It's probably time for us to go. I'm his ride."

"Well I'll leave you, then. One of you should be sober." Tanya reaches inside the back pockets of his jeans and slips him a piece of paper. "Call me," she whispers in his ear, before leaving him with a wink and a pat on the ass.

"Hey, spirit, that reminds me! You think we can go back and rewind? I wanted to see when she wrote her number for me. I wasn't paying attention. Please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"This isn't a VCR. You didn't pay attention the first time, that's just too bad. Come on, we have to follow them."

Jasper and Edward had left the party and were making their way back to the school.

"Man," Jasper said. "I can't believe you scored with Tanya McKinley. You are a god. And you know what? I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna take your money for my stupid business plan."

"You business plan better not be stupid, man. I'm investing in it. What changed your mind?"

"I thought about it, and I figured out what was bothering me. It wasn't taking the money; it was your father's money, and you hate him, which means that, as a best friend, I hate him to. Let's bleed the sucker dry! What bothers me is taking all the money, all for me."

"It's for us, dude. You're making me a partner, remember?"

"Well, you gonna keep some of it just for you. That's the condition. You do one thing, all for you, and then we become partner and we suck all your pop's money. You should buy Tanya something fancy, so she'll put out."

"I thought I was a god, I don't need to buy her fancy stuff. Not yet."

"Can't hurt. Anyway, what's your big plan?"

Young Edward thinks about it for a second before he answers. "I'm gonna change my name, legally."

Jasper laughs at the idea. "To what? Harry Baals? Hugh G Rection?"

"Edward Masen."

"That's already your name, assface."

"My name is Edward Masen, junior. I'm having the junior removed. Then I won't be reminded that I share a name with a douchebag every time I sign a check or something."

"I've gotta tell you, spirit," says our Edward as Jasper cheers his best friend on. "I never realised before how many important moments of my life happened on Christmas day."

"And we're not even done yet," adds the spirit. When he looks at her blandly, he extrapolates "Tanya? Don't you remember Tanya?"

"Of course I remember Tanya. We just saw her, didn't we? Oh, wait. You mean ..."

"That's right. Next stop, Splitsville."

The next three Christmas pass by in the blink of an eye. They were mostly spent partying with Tanya and working with Jasper, though with every year there was less and less partying, and more and more work.

"I'm telling you, Eddie, I don't know how much longer I can go on like this." Tanya stands in front of an Edward that doesn't look so young anymore. If he and our Edward could somehow stand in the same space at the same time, and be seen by someone other than the spirit, that person would be confused.

"So you either go on a bit more and find out, or you make the changes you need to make."

"Maybe you're the one who should change. You're the problem here."

"I sincerely doubt that. I'm not the one who's complaining."

"No, you just hide in your office and work all the time. Look at you now, for God's sake!"

Indeed, both Edwards, Tanya and the spirit are now standing in the office of Masen and Whitlock, the same office where Edward still works to this day.

"I would think that you would be more understanding of my work, Tanya. It's because of that work that I have the money to buy those pretty things you want."

"I don't care about the pretty things! I don't care about the money! I want you to be there, with me. I want a commitment from you."

"You're old enough to know that you can't get everything you want. I thought I'd made myself clear; I'm not going to be involved in any kind of serious relationship. I thought you agreed with me."

"I'm pregnant, Edward."

Silence falls on the room, and grows heavier, and heavier. It becomes hard to breath, even for our Edward. Only the spirit seems unaffected.

"Edward, say something," Tanya finally begs.

"I wish you the best of luck in raising your child, if this is what you choose to do."

"What? No, we're supposed to raise out child, together."

"Believe me, the best thing I can do for this child is stay as far away from its life as humanely possible."

Tears gleaming in her eyes, Tanya slowly turns around and walks out of the office. Edward stays exactly where he is, not moving, barely even breathing, until Jasper walks through the door thirty minutes later.

"Shit, Edward, you look like a warm dish of crap."

"Right back at you." Jasper was indeed looking rather dishevelled. "It's almost noon, where the hell have you been?"

"I just overslept, man. Had a weird dream. Anyway, what's with you?"

"Tanya and I just broke up."

"Wow, that sucks." After a moment to ponder the end of the relationship, Jasper speaks up. "So, back to work. You got that file I was looking for?"

"Yeah, there it is."

"You're not as nonchalant as you're pretending to be," says the spirit to our Edward.

"I'm trying to be, though. I know, I mean I knew, even then, that you shouldn't be part of a child's life unless you want the child in your life. The one good lesson my father taught me. Could you do something about that?" Our Edward points at the spirit's skin, which has become the brightest source of light in the room. "It's starting to give me a headache."

The spirit doesn't answer, or even react. "One last stop."

The spirit grabs his arm and drags him through the wall. He finds himself in a living room that's not his. It's nice enough, in a cluttered, suburban middle class way. Three women are sitting on the couch, drinking and laughing. One of them is Tanya.

"Wait!" Edward notices something wrong. "Where's the baby? Wasn't she pregnant a year ago? She should have a newborn baby with her right now, or near enough. Was she lying?"

"She had an abortion. She didn't want to raise a fatherless baby, and if she wasn't going to raise it, she didn't see the point of giving birth to it."

"Oh." Edward understands, of course. It's a woman's choice and all that. What were the options? His child being raised by a resentful mother, having a miserable existence? Being tortured by the knowledge that there was a little boy or girl, with half of his DNA, he would never meet? It's for the best, he tells himself as he rubs against the sudden ache in his ribcage.

Two men walk in the room, interrupting the party. Edward thinks he recognises them. Didn't they go to college with Jasper and Tanya? "Guess what we just heard," says the first man. He is tall, with long red hair he keeps in a ponytail. "Jasper Withlock is dead."

"He is not dead," corrects the second as Edward stops breathing. Shit. That's right. It was a year after the break up with Tanya that Jasper died.

"Soon, though," continues the second man. He has chocolate coloured skin, and dreadlocks that fall past his shoulders. "He had, like, a stroke. We saw the ambulance, and the EMTs were standing there arguing with that douche Masen because he wouldn't let them take Whitlock to the hospital. Something about not having a DNR."

"You mean he had a DNR," says one of the girls Edward didn't recognise. She looks a lot like Tanya, maybe a sister. "It's a paper people sign that says "if I'm dying, don't do anything to save my life" or something like that. I saw it on TV."

"Anyway," the first man takes over again. "There was that lady there, the house keeper. She found Whitlock and called 911, you know, like normal people do. Masen fired her, said she invaded Whitlock's privacy or some stupid shit like that. Can you believe it?"

"Wonder what's gonna happen to Masen now," says the other girl, also Tanya's sister from the look of it. "Whitlock was, like, the only person who could tolerate being with him for more than five minutes."

"He'll be fine," answers Tanya bitterly. "Edward Masen doesn't need human beings. As long as he has his ledgers and his money, he'll be fine. Hell, he's probably happy he doesn't have to share the wealth anymore."

Edward cannot take this venom anymore. Especially not from Tanya. "Shut up, you heartless, murdering bitch. Shut up!" He runs out; he can't be in this room anymore. He needs to find Jasper.

Running blindly through walls shouldn't work, and yet it does. Edward finds himself in Jasper's room, standing over the dying body of his best friend. He yells out his name, over and over. He tries to shake him, but his fingers run through like there was nothing

"How many times do I have to tell you that you can't interact with them? This is your past. You can't change your past, Edward Masen; you can only learn from it."

The spirit shines brighter then the sun. It makes Edward sick. It has to stop, it has to stop.

Through the glare, Edward sees it; the fur coat. In a primal scream, he runs up to the spirit, grabs the coat from her and does all he can to smother the light, to smother her. He manages to wrestle her down.

When he hits the floor, he realises two things simultaneously. The first is that he is back in his bedroom. The second is that rather than the spirit, he is holding a pillow.

Edward tries to catch his breath. He heaves, in and out, in and out. His heaves turn into sobs, and soon he is crying. For his mother, for his best friend, for his father's pointless cruelty, for the heart he broke, for his unborn child, and for the child he had been for too short a time.


	3. Chapter 3

Revenants and Redemption, or a Twilight Christmas Carol

**Chapter 3: The second of the three ghosts**

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the tears dry. Edward takes a deep breath to steady himself, then slowly rises to his feet. He turns his gaze toward the clock; it reads 1:59.

But that can't be right, can it, readers? Unless it's 1:59 in the afternoon. Edward walks up to the window and pulls the curtain. Nope, still dark outside.

Now that just doesn't make any sense. He's been gone more than an hour, he was sure of that. There is no way that all of that happened in only fifty nine minutes. But a whole day?

As Edward tries, and fails, to wrap his head around it, the clock changes from 1:59 to 2:00.

"Ho ho ho! Edward Masen! Get out here!"

Edward jumps at the booming voice, and carefully makes his way out of the room. He slowly walks past Christmas decorations he never put up, and in fact doesn't own, and into his living room, decorated with a giant Christmas tree and occupied by a giant man wearing a Santa costume.

This is no joke. The man is about seven feet tall, and his width matches his height, though you can tell it's all muscle and no fat. The giant has forgone the beard and white wig, and rather showed curly black hair and a clean shaven face, complete with dimples.

"Hmm, hi?" Edward asks timidly.

"Hello! Nice to meet you, man. I am Christmas."

"Christmas?"

"That's right! The embodiment of this wonderful day, December 25th 2011. Aren't I awesome?"

Edward studies the spirit for a moment, before saying: "Shouldn't you be dressed like Jesus?"

"Depends on who's looking at me, my secular friend. I don't especially care either way. You didn't answer my question. Don't you think Christmas is awesome?"

"Ahm, well," Edward awkwardly shuffles around, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I used to," he finally answers, his head still filled with the memories of his past Christmases. "But then I kind of forgot, I think."

"Well then, it's about time someone reminds you. Let's go, we've got a lot of ground to cover."

The spirit wraps an arm around Edward's shoulder and pulls him out of the room. Together, they watch people from all over the world celebrate Christmas. They see parties and family dinners and opening of presents. All the little moments that make Christmas special.

The spirit takes it all in with the wide-eyed innocence and wonder of a child. He sings along with carollers, he licks his lips at the food, he plays along with all the games as if the humans could see him. Edward smiles at the joy he witnesses, but that joy feels foreign to him. Even if he could interact with the people he sees, he would have no idea where to begin.

As they walk along, Edward notices two children standing some distance behind them, dressed in rags. He guesses that they are brother and sister, but couldn't tell anyone what made him say that. The boy has dark hair and the girl has pale hair. They are both pretty small, but all kids are small. The eyes are the most similar: they are black, vaguely menacing, and trained directly on him.

Edward gulps. In the many hours he spent with the spirits, no one has given any indication that they can see him at all. Except for the spirits, and now these children.

"Spirit?" he asks timidly. "There are two children behind us."

"I know." The spirit is undisturbed by this; he is busy watching a gospel choir animating a mass and dancing along with them.

"Are they yours?"

"Nope, they're yours."

"WHAT?" That is impossible, Edward thinks. There's no way. The only girl he ever got pregnant was Tanya, and those kids are older than the four or five years old his own children would be. Right? Besides, those children look nothing like him, or Tanya. Right? But what about someone else. He's been with Tanya for three years, and during that time he was faithful to her, but what about before?

"Relax, man," says the spirit, rolling his eyes. "I don't mean yours specifically. I mean they are the children of men. Ignorance and Want. She's Ignorance. Look out for her. They are both bad, but she's the worse."

Edward keeps staring at the children, who stared back at him. It was getting disturbing.

"All right, Edward Masen," says the spirit as he turns to him. "You've been a good little boy. You deserve a treat. Anyone special you want to see?"

Edward only needs a moment to think about it. "Carlisle, my uncle. I want to see him."

"Awesome!" And a moment later, they are standing Carlisle's living room. There is a party going on, with many people Edward does not recognize. There is some jazzy Christmas music playing in the background, an electric fireplace, many drinks poured.

The guests are gathered around one man, who is doing imitations. He goes through all the classics, like Elvis and Robert de Niro and Marlon Brando. Everyone is laughing, but soon they begin to goad him to do something more challenging.

"All right, all right, I've got this." The imitator clears out his throat and takes his position: shoulders straight, head high, looking down at everyone. "Do I look like a damned charity organisation to you? I don't give money, I loan money, and if you can't pay me back, you lose the collateral, plain and simple."

Everyone in the room, including Edward and the spirit, look at the man. They are all confused. The man smiles, satisfied that he stumped his friends for once, and goes on. "I don't care about people. I let my best friend die alone in his bed. Why would I do anything more for you?"

"Oh shit," says Edward.

"Well, no wonder nobody guessed: he got the voice all wrong!" As upset as Edward is to realise the extent of his horrible reputation, that strangers made fun of him behind his back, and in front of his uncle too, the spirit is doubly so. His perfect streak of guesses broken, because of a faulty voice.

A few of the guest are still confused, they do not know the history of Edward Masen. The rest of the guests are equally divided between those who find the imitation funny, and those who find it uncomfortable.

"Alistair, you are such a jerk," says a brunette who looks to be closer to Edward's age then Carlisle's and wears glasses. She clearly falls on the Uncomfortable side.

"What?"

In the face of Alistair's confusion, the brunette looks pointedly at Carlisle, then back at him. Carlisle, for obvious reasons, is not laughing. He looks at his glass pensively. A pretty woman with a heart-shaped face and caramel hair is wrapping her arms around him. Edward guesses that the woman is Esme, Carlisle's new wife.

"Oh. Carlisle, man. I'm sorry, but, you gotta admit, the guy's a jerk."

"Oh yes he is," adds another guest, a tall man with golden skin, who speaks with a strong Middle-Eastern accent. "And yet you invite him every year. I don't know why you do this. Imagine if he was to accept. It would make this party so awkward."

"I wish you wouldn't be so harsh on my nephew, Amun. He may surprise you. And I invite him because I wish him to have a pleasant holiday season. You should feel sorry of Edward, my friends. Who suffers for his sour disposition but himself? He does not feel even those few moments of pleasure he brought you today."

"In fact, I would like to propose a toast to him." Carlisle raises his glass, and waits until all of his guests follow suit. "To Edward Masen. May he find some joy in this holiday season." The guests repeat the toast and sip their beverage.

"All right, we have to go now." says the spirit. "Time is running short, and we have one more stop to make."

The spirit takes Edward to a small, rundown house Edward. "Where are we?" asks Edward.

"The Swan residence."

"Swan? You mean Charlie Swan, my clerk?"

"That's right. Good old Charlie Swan, celebrating Christmas with his family."

The spirit pulls Edward inside. Edward is momentarily distracted from his former concern, which had been "why was he looking at the Christmas day of his employee?" His current concern is "Charlie has a family?" For some reason, he always imagined Charlie as an old bachelor, and never cared enough to ask. The idea that he has a wife and children feels strange.

As he enters the kitchen, the world stops turning, and his universe shifts. While Edward is aware that there is another woman in the room, pulling a tray of cupcakes from the oven, and that she was blonde and in her mid-thirties, he only saw her.

He could tell so much from her, just by that first glance. She is beautiful, with long silky chestnut hair, big doe eyes, skin like peaches and cream, a small rosebud mouth. She is talented, drawing little holly sprigs and candy canes on another batch of cupcakes. She is a perfectionist: the effort she puts in making her holly leaves perfectly symmetrical is adorable.

She is unwell. She stops and closes her eyes, swaying as she puts a hand up to her temple.

"Bella," her mother runs to her side. "Let me finish those, honey. You go take a nap."

"No, I'm fine."

"Isabella Marie Swan, I agreed to let you help with the cupcakes for the Charity Boxing Day event tomorrow, on the condition that you wouldn't tire yourself out."

"I'm not, I promise. I only want to finish those few."

"You call a whole dozen cupcakes 'a few'?"

"The new batch has to cool off, mom. I meant those three. And I'm almost done with this one, so it's more like two and a quarter. Just let me finish, and then I'll go take a nap. Okay?"

She is generous, and stubborn. She knows her way around the kitchen. She needs plenty of rest, which means she is more than just unwell.

"She is sick, isn't she, spirit?"

"Yup. Lymphoma. Just diagnosed last month."

"Is it serious?" Edward asks, even though he knows the answer. Lymphoma is a form of cancer, and cancer is always serious.

"Well, it depends on how you look at it. See, there are lots of types of lymphoma, but they mostly fall into two categories: those that can't be cured, but also can't kill you, so you go on feeling like crap for the rest of your life, and those that can be cured, but if you don't get the treatment, you'll die. Bella falls in category number two. She could make a full recovery..."

"But her parents can't pay for the treatments." Edward watches as she finally finishes her cupcakes and let her mother guide her to the couch for a much needed nap.

He walks up to the couch and crouches besides his now sleeping beauty. Her mother goes back to the kitchen to clean up and to decorate the last twelve cupcakes by herself. Edward does not care, he continues to watch her sleep.

"She just has to hold on for a few years," Edward whispers. "Eventually, everyone will have health insurance, and she'll get her treatment. She just has to hang on. She can do it. Can't she, spirit?"

"Dude, you're asking me about the future? I don't know anything about that. I'm the present. All I how is what things are today. One month into the diagnosis, and she's already losing weight, she gets tired more easily, and her parents can't get her into treatment. I mean, she COULD get a miracle, but, you know ..."

She has to have her miracle. Edward knows this just as well as he knows that the Earth turns around the sun. Bella must live.

"What do you care if she dies anyway?" asks the spirit. "If she dies, it'll reduce the population surplus."

"She's not surplus!" Edward turns to face the spirit, ready to fight him should he try to bring about any harm to his angel.

The spirit smirks at him. "How's that medicine tasting?"

Edward remembers the visit from that charity organisation. How long has it been? He remembers his offhand comment about population surplus, made to shock the solicitor and get him to leave. He remembers the countless occasions before that. The medicine tastes bitter indeed.

It was at that moment that Charlie walked into his house, carrying a pizza box and a plastic bag. The sounds and smells wake Bella up.

"Here's my Christmas Bells." says Charlie as he puts the pizza on the table. "How are you, honey?"

"Dad, I'm getting too old for that nickname."

"Never." Charlie removes the contents of the bags: a two litre bottle of generic soda, a bag of microwave popcorn and a box of discount Christmas cookies.

"You brought pizza?" Bella has gotten up from the couch and is now walking to the table.

"Yeah, I knew you and your mom would be using the oven for most of the day for those cupcakes, for I figured it would be a nice holiday treat. The cakes look great, by the way."

"Thanks, but I haven't finished decorating ... them ..." Bella's voice trails off as she sees that every cupcake on the counter is iced and decorated. "Mom! You were supposed to wake me up."

"I tried, honey. A nuclear bomb wouldn't have woken you up." Charlie's wife walks up to the table, carrying three plates, three glasses and a handful of cutlery.

"Dad woke me up when he got home," mumbles Bella. Edward marvels at her. She's smart enough to know that she's being lied to, and to understand why, even though her pride makes it impossible for her to just take this white lie at face value.

"That's because you're hungry. And so am I. Let's sit down and eat."

Edward looks at the Christmas dinner of the Swan family. It is plain, to say the least. And yet, by the look of contentment on Bella's face, he could tell that she wouldn't change it for anything.

Once every one is served and seated, Charlie raises his glass. "I would like to propose a toast. To Edward Masen, who gave us the means to be together and celebrate today."

Edward is shocked. So is Charlie's wife. "Edward Masen! He gave us the means to celebrate? That miser jerk?"

"Yes, Renee. It is thanks to him that I have a steady job, and have had it for four years now. I am grateful for this job, as it gives me the ability to care for my family." There's something in Charlie's tone, that sounds like an accusation. What is that about?

"Personality aside," continues Charlie, "I think this deserves a toast. God bless Edward Masen!"

"God bless us, everyone," quietly replies an uncomfortable Bella.

As the whole family raises their glass, Edward turns to the spirit.

"Charlie's always been the principle bread winner of the family," explains the spirit. "He washed out of police academy in the first year of their marriage, and found a job as a security guard at a mini-mall. Four years ago in September, the mini-mall went bankrupt and closed down. After four months without a job, he was getting pretty desperate. When you offered him that clerk job in December, you saved him and his family. They completely depend on you."

The whole family depends on the salary he gives to Charlie. Charlie must pay the rent on this little house, without any hope of ever owning it or another one, and pay for food and clothes and all of their needs, and he must do so on seventy hour weeks at minimum wage. And Edward berated him because he was obligated to pay him for that one day, Christmas day, he would spend with his family.

"Doesn't Renee work?"

"On and off, little jobs here and there. Thing is, she's not the most practical minded woman. If she doesn't like a job, she just quits. With that kind of work history, people are hesitant to hire her in the first place. She quit her most recent job a month ago, after Bella's diagnosis. It caused some conflict between Charlie and Renee, but they try not to show it, for Bella's sake. Charlie already feels bad about what he said."

Exclamations of joy ring around the table. The Swans have opened their presents: a pretty bait for Charlie, a few colourful trends, the kind used the braid friendship bracelets for Renee, and a paperback copy of Wuthering Heights for Bella. The tension of the previous moment has disappeared. "See," says the spirit. "They've learned the hard way to make every moment a happy one, as much as you can. All you have is the present."

Edward watches Bella. He stares as she laughs, as she tells a story to her parents, as she takes a big bites of pizza. Even when the spirit takes him by the shoulder and gently pulls him out of the house, he keeps his eye on her, until she has completely disappeared from sight.

The spirit guides Edward in the middle of a storm cloud. At least that's what it feels like. Edward can barely see anything around him. He's never been in a fog so thick in his life.

"Sure is foggy tonight," says the spirit.

"Where are we, spirit?"

"The final stop."

The final stop? What does that mean? What place in the world could be so foggy?

"Is the final stop San Francisco?" finally asks Edward. This makes the spirit laugh.

"You're a funny guy, Edward Masen. You should joke more often."

Before Edward can ask any more questions, a bell starts to ring, loudly.

"There it is," says the spirit. "Midnight. The end of the day, and the end of my life."

The spirit starts to fade in front of Edward's eyes. This makes our boy panic. "Spirit, wait! You have to take me home. I'm supposed to meet the third one at midnight."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Eddie boy. The last spirit will find you. We're always watching." The spirits laughs as he disappears into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Revenants and Redemption, or a Twilight Christmas Carol

**Chapter 4: The last of the ghosts**

Edward looks around the yard, haunted by the spirit's less then comforting final words.

I want you to try and picture the scene in your mind, readers. It is midnight. Edward is standing in the middle of, well, somewhere. He doesn't know where, because the fog is so thick that he can for one foot ahead on him. The next and final spirit should be here any minutes now, and the idea of what that spirit would show him is starting to really scare him.

Then he sees it, the spirit. She is a small thing; a female figure wearing a dark cloak that covers her entire body, and a hood that covered her hair and a small part of her face. Her hair is black, and probably short since Edward can't see any of it other than her bangs. Her eyes are dark, and dead.

And that is why Edward jumps out of his skin and almost falls down at the sight of a girl who's more than a foot smaller then he is.

"So," he says after he calms down and catches his breath. "You are the final spirit."

The spirit nods.

"You are going to show me the future, I assume."

The spirit nods.

"I have to say, spirit, of all the ghosts I met, you are the scariest."

The spirit does not react in any way.

"Aren't you going to talk?"

The spirit shakes her head.

"All right. No talking. That's cool."

Edward walks toward the spirit, as ready as he could be for the next travel. The spirit holds out a hand, in a "Stay right where you are" motion.

"I'm ... sorry, I just assumed that we would ... like the others ... so how ..."

Edward is still trying to finish a sentence when his vision starts to blur, then to shift. When it clears up again, it is daylight. He and the spirit are standing on a crowded sidewalk, where people walk right past them. Some walk right through them.

"Are you doing this, spirit?" The spirit doesn't answer, but the answer, in this case, in rather obvious. "This is ... convenient."

The spirit ignores the last comment as well, and points toward a small cluster of men. Edward takes a few, hesitant steps, until he is close enough to hear the conversation.

"No, I don't know any details. All I know is that he's dead."

"When?"

"I don't know, but it's been a while. The smell got so bad that finally, someone called the cops."

"Jeez, I don't think even he deserved that kind of death."

"I always told you, bud, you're too soft. I'd say he got exactly what he deserved."

"Do you know how long it takes for a corpse to stink up that bad? Days, weeks even."

"So? If he hadn't been so much of an asshole, maybe someone would have cared enough to check up on him sooner."

"I feel bad for the bed."

"What?"

"It was a really nice bed, and now it's junked. They'll never get the smell out of it."

"Oh, and you know all about that bed, don't you?"

"Shut up!"

"What I want to know is: what happened to the money."

"He didn't give it to me, that's for sure."

The conversation fades as the group of men walk away.

"Oh, my God," whispers Edward. "What kind of men can speak that way of the dead? Was the poor guy so terrible, that his death could be treated with such contempt?"

The vision blurs and shifts once more. When it clears up, Edward and the spirit are at a pawnshop.

"Are you absolutely out of your mind?" yells the guy behind the counter to the guy standing in front of it. "Take that back. You think I don't know where that came from?"

"So what? You scared of the ghost? You think there's a curse on that thing?"

"Yeah, that's right. It's the curse of the cops, who come to arrest me and close down my shop for selling stolen goods."

"Come on, the guy's dead. Who's gonna complain?"

"Whoever's due to inherit that junk, maybe?"

"What makes you think anybody's gonna inherit? The guy probably didn't have a will. He was left to rot in his bed for weeks!"

"People care more about money then they care about people."

"Look, I swear to you; there were five other guys in the house while I was there, and more coming in and out. If any cop wants to lock you up, they'll have to lock up every pawnbroker in the city. Just have a look, all right?"

The pawnbroker sighs and picks up the watch. Edward recognises it; it looks exactly like the watch he lost two years ago.

"You found it in the bedroom?"

"No, are you nuts? I didn't go there! Saw a guy come out, though. Don't know how he did it. Anyway, I found that behind the couch cushions."

The pawnbroker continues his examination for a while longer, before setting the watch down. "Three hundred."

"There! Thank you. Was that so hard? I won't even tell you that it's worth at least five hundred, because friends don't give grief to friends."

"Yeah yeah yeah."

As the pawnbroker gets the cash to pay the thief, they both blur out of Edward's sight. "It's me, isn't it?" Edward says in a low voice. "The dead man is me."

When the vision clear out, Edward and the spirit are standing in a strange living room. A young, short, curly haired brunette Edward has never met is pacing back and forth. A young man with blond hair and blue eyes runs in the room with a huge smile on his face. Him, Edward has met: it's Mike Newton. He came to the office a few days ago (was it a few days ago?), and asked about his policies. He hadn't taken a loan, yet, but Edward had been certain it was only a matter of time before he would.

"It's true," says Mike to his girlfriend, or perhaps his wife. "He's dead."

"What does that mean for us?"

"It buys us a few more weeks, while the bank clears up the paperwork. I heard he didn't have an heir. The bank might decide to just foreclose, and forgive all the loans."

"And if they don't?"

"Tyler will be there next week. He would have been there yesterday if not for that stupid tropical storm. Anyway, the deal in Florida went well, and he's bringing back the money we need to pay back the loan. I was afraid he would get here too late, because there was no way in hell we were going to get an extension. But now ..."

"By the time the bank gets around to us, we'll have the money."

"Exactly. It's over. We're safe."

The woman jumps in the man's arms. "Promise me you'll never do anything that stupid again."

"I promise, Jess. Never again."

"All right, all right, I get it," groans Edward in frustration. "Everybody will be happier when I'm dead. That's a great lesson, spirit. Thanks a lot."

The vision blurs and shifts once more. "What now?" complains Edward as the vision is still changing. When it finally clears, his mood takes a dramatic turn. The spirit is showing him the Swan residence. This can only mean ...

"Bella." Edward runs up to the door, but this time rather then run through it, he hits it. He tries to turn the knob, without success. "Bella!"

After some desperate and useless knocking, Edward spots a window and runs to it. He can now see Charlie and Renee, and hear them. The scene unfolding before his eyes stuns him.

"It's all your fault, Charlie Swan," Renee is standing with her back to the window, screaming at Charlie who looked like he was one breath away from completely loosing it. "You had to take that stupid, horrible, dead end job. Minimum salary, no insurance. And look what happened."

"What was I supposed to do, Renee?"

"Get your ass back in police academy, that's what."

"Oh, right. Because public servants are swimming in pools filled with money."

"At least, they have health benefits. Our little girl, she suffered so much... And you..."

"Now wait a minute, Renee. Nothing was stopping you from getting a job."

"I had to take care of my daughter," But Charlie was in no mood to let Renee interrupt him.

"In fact, I'm sure that somewhere in that infinite list of jobs you couldn't keep for longer than two months, there were one or two that did offer health benefits. If you hadn't been so goddamned irresponsible... And don't even get me started on that "taking care of my daughter" bullshit. She was the one who took care of you. She did all the cooking and the cleaning, even when she was sick. All you ever cared about was lounging around like a princess and get waited on."

Renee walks up to Charlie and slaps him across the face. "Get out! You don't get to stand here and tell me I don't love my daughter. Get out!"

"I, get out? You get out! I pay the rent here, I get to say who stays and goes."

"Fine!"

Renee barely takes the time to grab her coat and slip on her boots before she runs out and slams the door. She sits on the doorsteps, muttering and swearing under her breath as she ties up her boots and button her coat. She angrily wipes the tears from her face as she gets up and walks away. Charlie, meanwhile, is slowly making his way to the couch. He sits down, puts his head in both of his hands and cries.

When the vision blurs, Edward isn't certain if it's the spirit taking him somewhere else. It could be the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes.

"All right," he says after a moment. He wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "All right," he repeats, his voice much stronger. "I'll fix this. Just send me back, and I'll get started."

He looks around and realise that he's in a cemetery. On the steps of the adjoining church, Carlisle is talking to a priest.

"But why? I get it, I promise. I need to go back and save Bella."

The spirit raises and arm and points at Carlisle and the priest.

"Fine, I'm going."

Edward walks up to Carlisle and the priest. The latter his putting a comforting hand on the shoulder of the former, who looks like he's trying very hard not to cry.

"Are you all right, my son?"

"I'm, hum, to be honest, father, I'm not sure. I feel terribly guilty. I should have checked up on him earlier. I should have made more of an effort to stay in touch with him."

"I'm sure you did the best you could, son."

"Sometimes, that just doesn't seem to be enough." Carlisle to a breath. "Anyway, thank you for all your help with the arrangements, father."

"Okay," says Edward as Carlisle shakes hands with the priest. "I need to spend more time with my uncle. I was already going to do that, I really was. And I'll take care of all the other stuff, too. I'll give to charity, and I'll forgive all the loans. I'll close down the business. No, wait, I can't do that, Charlie needs the work."

The spirit turns and begins to walk away.

"Wait!" Edward runs behind the spirit. "I'll figure something out. Just send me back."

The spirit and Edward stop in from of a neatly dug six foot deep hole. On the other side of the hole is a tombstone, bearing the words: Edward Masen, Gone Too Soon.

"What the hell? Is that a joke? It's not funny. Send me back."

The spirit does not react. This only makes Edward more agitated.

"I can't be dead. Not yet. How am I supposed to fix anything if I'm dead? What was the point of showing me all this if I'm already dead? What was the point!"

The church bell begins to ring. Edward recognises it; it's the same bell that rang the twelve counts of midnight when he was with the spirit of Christmas present. He was at the same place, now cleared of fog. The final stop.

Edward grabs the spirit by her shoulders and begins to shake her. "Answer me, damn it! What was the point? What do you want from me?"

The spirit does not speak. She simply breaks out of Edward's grasp and pushes him into the hole. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the impact. He lands on his back in a loud thud.


	5. Chapter 5

Revenants and Redemption, or a Twilight Christmas Carol

**Chapter 5: The end of it**

Wait. The ground shouldn't be that hard, even if it is December. And it shouldn't be that smooth. And he shouldn't have that much space.

Edward opens his eyes. That's his bedroom. He's back in his bedroom. He's alive!

Oh, if you could only see him now, readers. How he runs up to the window and shoves the curtains open. How he screams "I love you, world!" and basks in the sunshine. It's a beautiful sight.

"What time is it? What day is it? I have to get to work, talk with Charlie, There's a lot to do. Maybe I could call Carlisle. I wonder if it's too early."

At some point is the night, the battery of his digital clock died, so he boots up his computer. When he sees the date on his computer, he can't help but cheer.

Sunday, December 25th, 2011.

It's Christmas.

"Christmas, you are awesome. All of you spirits are awesome. And you're awesome too, Jazz. Don't worry, buddy, I won't forget."

He spends the next two hours online, frenetically searching for stores open and willing to deliver today. He spends more money during that time then he had for all of his bills, including business expenses, for the year of 2011, but it is worth it. "The Swans won't know what hit them," he chuckles to himself.

Now that he's sure the Swans will have the Christmas of a lifetime, he begins to look for charities that accept online donations. He finds many and puts himself to work right away.

After an hour of making donations, the gesture begins to feel empty. He has a lot of money, it's easy to give, but he's thinking that he should be doing something, concretely. Then he gets to the website of the Red Cross, and that gives him an idea. As luck would have it, there is a blood bank in town today. He gets dressed and runs to it.

As he makes his way to the blood bank, he notices two men standing in front of a recently closed down business.

"Well, no wonder. If you want to make it in business today, you need to be online."

"No, man, you're too cynical. The Internet can't replace everything. You just need the right idea, the right approach."

"Oh, and you have all that, do you? Then why don't you open your business?"

"I would, if I could get the bank to approve a loan. I need to work on my business proposal some more, that's all."

"You're dreaming."

"Keep it up, and I won't make you my business partner."

The reminder of his younger self talking with Jasper is shocking. It feels like a sign. If not for the death of Edward Masen senior and his inheritance, Jasper and he might never have opened their business. Very few people can count on that kind of windfall. In these times of economic struggles, banks are a lot more hesitant to loan money.

A whole new business plan is making its way in Edward's mind. He begins thinking and planning as he gets to the blood bank, fills the paperwork, waits in line, has his blood drawn, recuperates and eat a cookie and drinks a box of orange juice.

As he leaves the blood bank, with his head full of ideas, he happens to glance at his watch. Even as he sees that it's four o'clock, his first thought is that he should go get his old watch lost in the couch cushions.

Then he realises.

He has one hour before the stores close to get something to bring to Carlisle and Esme. After being so rude when Carlisle asked him (can you believe it was only yesterday?) he can't show up empty handed.

He runs to the store, spends as much time as he possibly can choosing the best wine and bouquet of flowers, pays for them five minutes before closing time, and then makes his way to Carlisle's house.

He is so nervous as he rings the doorbell. Carlisle had said that his door was always open, but maybe Edward was pushing the rules of hospitality too far, showing up at the last minute like this. Had he picked the right flowers? He shuffles the table arrangement of poinsettia in his arms. They had looked festive and seasonal when he bought them, but maybe they were too kitsch. Maybe he should have gone with something more traditional, like roses. Or would that send the wrong message? And what about the wine? He can't think about the wine or he'll completely lose it. And what about the other guests? Would his presence ruin the party?

The door opens as Edward tells himself for the twelfth time that he had been invited to come tonight and that he therefore had as much right to be here as anyone else.

"Edward?" Carlisle looks as though he can't quite believe his eyes. The faint glimmer of hope he could detect in his uncle's eyes make Edward even more nervous.

"Merry Christmas, Carlisle. I hope it's okay ... I mean, I realise this is pretty much last minute ..."

"Of course, come in, come in." Carlisle drags Edward inside, takes the flowers and wine away to put them on the first flat surface he finds, and wraps his arms around his nephew.

"I should I have come sooner," says Edward as he returns his uncle's hug. "I'm sorry."

"That's all in the past, now. What's important is that you're here, now."

Carlisle introduces Edward and Esme. At first, they are polite but a bit weary of each other. Or rather, they are both weary of Edward, scared that he will say or do the wrong thing and hurt Carlisle, or embarrass him.

That changes a few minutes before the other guests are due to arrive, when Edward suddenly realises how much Esme's joy in caring for her house and her husband, and her love of the holidays, reminds him of his mother. As soon as he makes the comment, Esme's opinion of him changes. He's no longer the arrogant man who's absence on her wedding day had hurt Carlisle so much; he's a little boy who lost his mother to a terrible disease, and then lost himself in anger.

She is now Edward's champion. When some of the guests quietly take her and Carlisle aside and explain that Edward's presence makes them feel uncomfortable, and that they would like him to leave, it is she who says: "We're sorry to see you go, but we're not going to force anyone to stay against their will, and we will not ask Edward to leave. He's family."

Some guests chose to leave, and it's too bad for them. Those who stay find Edward to be surprisingly good company, now that he's giving himself the trouble to be. And once he relaxes a little, Edward finds in himself something he thought he had lost 18 years ago: the joy of Christmas. He is determined to keep in in his heart forever.

And so he does, though Charlie would never had guessed it when he walked in the office the next morning.

"Where the hell have you been? You're a half-hour late!"

"I'm sorry, sir." Am I the only one who thinks' it's sad that Charlie isn't even startled by Edward yelling at him? "I overslept."

"Wonderful. How am I supposed to make you my partner if you're not there to sign the partnership agreement? Plus we have to dismantle the current business and forgive all the loans, did you know there were so many of them? And we're starting a new business together, and that means a mountain of paperwork, most of which needs your signature. And on top of all that, I ran out of paper. Where do you keep the supplies?"

Charlie blinks. Edward lost him at the word 'partner'.

Edward stops and takes a deep breath. "I apologize, Charlie," he says in a softer tone. "That was rude. I need to work on my temper. What I should have said was: Good morning. How was your holiday?"

Charlie is bewildered. "Good." It takes him a full minute to get this word out.

Edward waits a moment, to see if Charlie is going to say anything else. "Well that's nice," says Edward when it's clear that Charlie won't elaborate. "I need some more paper for my printer, would you please tell me where you keep the office supplies?"

Charlie points to large cabinet, where Edward does indeed find a large collection of office supplies, including paper.

"Excellent. As I said rather abruptly earlier, I am making something of a business overhaul. Among many other things, I've decided to make you my business partner, if you are interested, of course. I've taken the liberty to print out a partnership agreement, it's on your desk. Go ahead and read it while I finish my run of printing. Please, God, let that be the last of the printing for today. Anyway, would you like some coffee?"

"Sir, did you hit your head?"

Charlie wants to swallow back the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but Edward only laughs.

"No, Charlie," he says when he regained some serious. "I did not hit my head. I had a revelation. I haven't been a good man, Charlie. I've hurt a lot of people, with anger and carelessness. But I'm aware of it, now, and I've decided to change. The business need to change, because the way I'm making money now, by dangling hope in front of people's face and yanking it away, is just cruel. I need someone to help me in this, because setting up a new business is a lot of work for one person. I chose you, because I trust you more than any other person alive. Will you do this with me, Charlie?"

Charlie stares at the earnest Edward, studying him. He sits down at his desk, speed-reads through the partnership agreement, and signs it. "So, Edward," he says hesitantly. "How was your holiday?"

Edward tells him of the evening he spent with Carlisle and Esme. Charlie replies with the tale of his strange Christmas; at five o'clock yesterday, a bunch of people came to his house and delivered an already cooked dinner and a bunch of presents from "Santa". Edward can't quite hide his little knowing smile as Charlie describes the brand new fishing pole he got, his wife's top of the line jewel assembly kit and his daughter's Kindle. Charlie goes on to describe his family in more details, and Edward then does the same. As they work their way through a mountain of paperwork, they continue to talk and to get to know each other.

It is the beginning of something that will change both of their lives.

_(Am I evil for ending things here, readers? Perhaps I am. I can only hope that the epilogue I plan to post tomorrow is enough to redeem myself.)_


	6. Epilogue

Revenants and Redemption, or a Twilight Christmas Carol

**Epilogue: one year later**

December 24th, 2012

"Charlie. What are you still doing here? It's a quarter past noon. You were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago."

Charlie snorts at Edward's light chiding. "Can you imagine what your reaction would have been a year ago, if someone had told you that not only would you let me leave at noon, you would insist that I do?"

There are many things Edward would have thought impossible a year ago. That he would close his pawn broking business to open a microfinance business-start-up enterprise. That he would be spending a few hours every week-end with Carlisle and Esme. That he would be dating the most amazing woman he ever met, the daughter of his new business partner, Bella.

In the 363 days since they became business partner, Edward has gotten to know Charlie pretty well. At least well enough to know that Charlie was avoiding the question. Things have been less then ideal at the Swan residence lately, according to Bella.

Charlie is too proud to share his private problems with the man he still sees as his superior, even though they no longer have an employer-employee relationship. It is thanks to Edward's generosity that Bella had been able to follow the treatment that saved her life. She was now in remission, and Charlie will never see himself as Edward's equal.

"I think it's just as well that me from a year ago will never know, because the idea of me leaving at noon would give him a heart attack," jokes Edward. "Come on, then. Whatever's left to do here can wait for the 26th. Are you coming to Carlisle and Esme's house for dinner tomorrow? They would love to meet you."

"Yeah, probably. It was very nice of you to invite us, sir." Charlie and Edward make their way out the door, though Charlie is not exactly enthusiastic about it.

"It'll be great to see you there. Merry Christmas, Charlie."

"Merry Christmas sir."

Edward makes his way to his house. The decorations from the porch and the lights of the roof make him smile; he remembers going to buy them with Bella, when she returned from her last trip to the hospital. She had felt sorry for him when he told her he had no Christmas decorations, and she took it upon herself to solve this problem.

Some people, Charlie the first among them, would say that Edward and Bella's relationship was going too fast, that the age difference was too great, that they had nothing in common. Bella would reply that Edward has been there for her, he always had an ear, or a hand, or a shoulder, when she needed one. People who've known her for years, people her own age, had not shown her that kind of devotion. And she and Edward have plenty in common; they can talk about books and music and movies for hours. Edward smiles and says that as long as Bella wishes him by her side, nothing would make him leave.

He is there for her, later that afternoon, when she knocks on his door in tears.

"Bella, sweetheart, what happened?"

"They're fighting. Again."

Edward carries the crying Bella to his living room, where he sets her down on his lap and let her cry.

"I'm beginning to think they only stayed together because I was sick," she eventually says. "When I look back on it, there are a lot of little clues that tell me they weren't happy together."

"How does it make you feel?"

"Angry, some. I mean, really, did they think I was so fragile that I couldn't take it of they divorced? One in every three marriage end in divorce. Those kids live through it, I would have too. But then, I think that maybe they were right, because I catch myself thinking if I was still sick, they wouldn't be fighting. I know, I know," she quickly adds as Edward's face blanches. "That's stupid, I shouldn't think that. I guess the doctor's visit has shaken me up more then I wanted it to, and then when I walked home and found them fighting ..."

"What doctor's visit?"

"Oh, I had an appointment with Dr. Gerundi today."

Edward sighs in relief as Bella names her general practitioner, and not one of the many oncologist to follow her.

"It didn't go well?" The visit had shaken her up, after all.

"Well, it didn't go poorly, not really. I mean, I kind of expected it. It was just ... Well ..." Edward waits patiently for Bella to finish her sentence. "Edward, do you want children?"

The question takes him by surprise, and he's not quite sure how to answer, but he knows enough about Bella to realise that she would take any hesitation as a sign of dishonesty. "I ... think so."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I mean, it's a new thing to me. I used to think that the best favour I could do any child was to not be their father. I was afraid of being too much like my own dad."

"You never could be like that. Your father was a monster." They have spoken to each other about their past to such an extent that Bella feels quite confident in her judgement. "So what changed your mind?"

"Well, I had a girlfriend, Tanya. I met her during my last year of high school. We dated for three years before we broke it off. She told me that day that she was pregnant. I told her what I just told you, that I couldn't be a dad. I learned recently that she had an abortion after I said that."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah. It got me thinking. Anyway. Is that why you went to see Dr. Gerundi? You want children?"

"Well, yes. I mean, I'd like to go back to school, maybe culinary school. I could become a chef. Anyway, I wanted to make sure, you know, after radiations and chemo and all that, that it was still an option. Dr. Gerundi said I should talk to a fertility specialist. I figured he would say that, but..."

"But nothing." Edward takes Bella's face in both his hands. "We'll talk to a fertility specialist, wherever you feel ready. We'll look at our options. If you can't have children, we can consider surrogacy, or adoption. We can go this afternoon, or wait another 20 years. Whatever you want. Just promise me that you'll never wish yourself sick again. The world needs you happy and healthy, beautiful. I need you happy and healthy. I'm too selfish to give you up."

"All right. I promise not to say things like that again, if you promise not to talk yourself down like that. You are the least selfish person I've ever met."

"You have a deal." The deal is sealed with a kiss. "So," Edward continues. "Culinary school, is it, chef Swan?"

"I'm considering it. Although, to be honest, I'm kind of hoping that by graduation, I might be chef Masen."

"I like the sound of that."

As they lean into each other for another kiss, we step away from Bella and Edward. What their lives hold after this point, I will leave up to your imagination. I will simply add that for the rest of his days, Edward lived by the lessons the spirits thought him. One cannot change the past, one can only learn from it. The future always comes faster than you would expect it to. All you can do is be the best you can be in the present, and enjoy the moment. Not only at Christmastime, but all year through.

Merry Christmas to all.


End file.
